Maybe we are supposed to find each other

dull dull bright bright dull

On the eve of what would have been my father’s 90th birthday I wanted to share one of my most personal poems:

(1985)

when I was a child I
would often go night fishing
with my dad during
the summer to escape
the noiselessness and 
heat our stuffy house

we would both 
stand in the same river and
silently say all of the things that 
a father and son are …